


On Your Own

by BoundHopes (Hadrian_Pendragons)



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst, F/F, Future Foundation went a bit to hell, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, More tags to be added?, Multi, in which naegi accidentally ends up in UDG
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26432356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hadrian_Pendragons/pseuds/BoundHopes
Summary: Naegi Makoto had been working with the Future Foundation for years. It was his way forward in a ruined world—until it became clear Future Foundation wasn't on his side.A mission gone wrong leaves him stranded, but he's not as alone as he stumbles his way forward once more. He isn't sure if that's a good thing.
Relationships: Fukawa Touko/Naegi Komaru, Hinata Hajime & Naegi Makoto, Hinata Hajime/Kamukura Izuru/Naegi Makoto, Kamukura Izuru & Naegi Makoto
Comments: 5
Kudos: 75





	On Your Own

He holds his breath, heart pounding in his chest, the hacking gun shaking in his hand. He can hear that chilling laughter above the office desk he hides under. The laugh that still haunts his dreams and interrupts his sleep without mercy or remorse.

It was the second hour of the attack on their base. Their location had been untraceable… or so he had been led to believe. He was still putting the pieces together—the assignment, _alone,_ to direct a survey of the city of Juuyo; the team he was given scattered and new to the job and still awe-struck at his title; the commander of said team abandoning his post and leaving them all to fend for themselves when the disaster hit.

It was a set-up.

The scrape of razor claws along the concrete floor draws closer, until he hears a curious noise and a cackle of laughter. He clicks the gun to _dance_ and tenses himself, ready to distract the Monokuma in the room and make a run for it—

—and then he hears robotic screaming, followed by the sound of crushed and scraping metal.

His eyes widen. He holds his breath.

It’s several moments— _just_ moments—and an explosion shakes the room, shrapnel embedding itself into the wall beside him. A red Monokuma eye clatters to the floor, staring up at him, light fading.

Makoto swallows.

_Rescue?_

_A rogue Monokuma?_

_Something else?_

The hacking gun in his hand suddenly feels inadequate.

“There is no longer any reason for you to hide, Naegi Makoto.”

_Fuck._

He knew that voice.

Not personally—he had never had the misfortune to meet the man face to face… until now. But even over videos, the emotionless way _he_ spoke and the chill it sent through his body never left his mind.

His arms fall limp, the gun slumping in his grip. His heart pounds in acceptance and another plan races around his mind. No matter what he decided, though… there was no getting away.

He stands, shakily but firm, and faces the other person in the room.

Among the dented metal of broken Monokuma, was Kamukura Izuru.

His eyes were much more… void than Makoto had been able to make out from the Remnant’s videos. Uninterested. Bored. Lacking, in sympathy or disgust, neither in the man’s gaze as he looked over Naegi—tattered clothes, burn on his upper arm, blood leaking from his shins where a couple of Monokuma had barely nicked him to stop him from running.

Kamukura simply stands, out of place among the wreckage. He’s untouched by the carnage that littered the room, pitch black hair a wavy, lengthy mess that seemed to float around him like a shield, separating him from the dirty room. His simple suit remained unruffled, a stark contrast to Makoto’s own bloody and burnt clothing. And behind the strands of hair framing the mans face, Kamukura’s red eyes cast shadows over his cheeks with an eerie aura of nihilism.

Makoto, despite the situation, cannot stop the rush of air that enters his lungs upon matching that gaze.

“… Ka… Kamukura Izuru.” His voice fades out hoarsely halfway through the name, concrete dust choking his dry throat. He swallows back the urge to cough. He can’t look away—he wouldn’t look away.

“Your team seems to have fallen easily.”

Makoto twitches.

“Then they… all died.” He says, a lump settling into his chest. He had been separated from the newbie scouts almost an hour ago—after the commander had fled. He had hoped, _believed,_ that some of them had found shelter. Makoto had been determined to find them and escape.

Kamukura tilts his head. “Does it disturb you? How quickly they met their end?”

Makoto refocuses on the man, a deep-seated stubbornness tightening his fist around the useless gun, and a nagging feeling Kirigiri had taught him to never doubt prodding at his mind.

_Something isn’t right._

“You aren’t here for me, are you?”

“What reasoning led you there?”

A prompt. Kamukura knew, then. He had spelled it out for him, after all.

“This was supposed to be a scouting mission.” He starts, the creeping of cold betrayal wrapping around his heart. “Into potentially dangerous territory. Yet our team was inexperienced, and the commander in charge… abandoned us.” His voice wavers. He inhales. Exhales. _Keep going._ “I don’t know how they could have predicted a swarm of Monokuma appearing out of nowhere… but I know the mission was a rush order.” A rush order, so much so he hadn’t yet had a chance to call in to the Fourteenth among plotting scouting routes and getting to know his team and working with the commander to secure their base of operations. He hadn’t been on a scouting mission in years, either. After their initial training, he and the other survivors had devoted their time to tracking down the Remnants of Despair.

And now, here he was, alone with one of the people he had tasked himself to find, but with the realization that no one would be coming to his rescue. At least, not right now.

It was a trap.

“Someone in Future Foundation… wanted to get rid of me.” And it _stung_ to say it out loud. To remember the faces of all those new recruits that had been dragged into the middle of it. But he wouldn’t turn away from the truth. “It had to have been Future Foundation. If it had been set by the Remnants… you wouldn’t have bothered with the Monokuma. Kamukura Izuru is enough for a team like ours… was.”

Naegi took a moment to let it sink in. Let those lives wash over him. He hadn’t gotten to know all of them. He’d been too busy, and now he wouldn’t have the chance.

Then took another breath. There was something else he had to ask.

“So… why _are_ you here?”

Kamukura closes his eyes, breaking their staring contest, turning away with arms crossed. “I thought the Survivor of Hope might be someone interesting. Besides,” he casts a look at the destroyed Monokuma. Makoto can almost convince himself there’s distain in those red irises—but they close again, and he can’t be sure. “I dislike this boring plan. How does it feel to be betrayed by those who saved you?”

The cold tightens its grip.

But Makoto lets it go, and it washes away with the rest of the panic.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, looking to that dull Monokuma eye again. “There’s someone potentially dangerous within the Foundation… so I need to get back and warn my friends. They could be targeted, too.”

_They’ll be looking for me._

That was the new plan. Find a way to communicate with the Fourteenth without Future Foundation finding out. Make sure they’re safe. Make sure they know _he’s_ safe.

He remembers the malicious grin on the commander’s face as he ran past Makoto and left him to direct the younger members. Makoto would probably be declared dead or MIA.

As much as it hurt, he should probably keep it that way.

“… it doesn’t matter?” Kamukura sighs. “You truly are what the rumors say of you.”

Kamukura begins to walk toward the door.

“Kamukura!”

The man pauses. Those eyes look back at Makoto with only the slightest of curiosity… and in that split moment, Makoto saw a plea.

_Give me a reason to care._

“Thank you.”

“I did not save you,” Kamukura replies quickly, harshly. “I simply wish to observe. I could very well have let you meet your end with no remorse. Or ended your life myself.”

“But you didn’t… haven’t…?” Makoto smiles and scratches his cheek. “So… thank you.”

Kamukura stares a moment longer. Makoto can see it—the moment something begins to frustrate the man, before it all drains away into an uncaring void.

Kamukura Izuru walks away without another word.

Makoto waits and watches the door, the conversation and realizations racing through his mind until he couldn’t take it anymore.

His legs give out, and he falls back against the desk. His knees hit the floor, and his lungs can’t seem to get enough air.

He’d barely escaped death today. So many weren’t as _lucky_.

The gun is still in his hand. It’s going to be his best weapon in the days to come.

_Left for dead. Betrayed._

It stings. Future Foundation had been their salvation, not that long ago. The ones that found them and helped them through the suffering. And now they wanted him dead?

That didn’t matter. What mattered was _why._ And if it applied to the others as well.

This was underhanded. Meant to look like an accident. Time and again Kirigiri had reminded him of what his title meant to people. But what exactly had he done to warrant this?

He shakes his head. There’s nothing he can do from here. Worrying about it would be useless.

He needed to survive. _Survive._ He knew how to do that. They had done it when they’d first left Hope’s Peak, years ago. He could do it again.

Even if he was alone.

* * *

The city was mostly abandoned, as he came to discover.

Monokuma roamed the streets searchingly, though there was rarely anything to find. Makoto stuck to upper levels—a few hid inside buildings, but they were less likely to gain the attention of a swarm. He could also search for supplies this way. He finds an old backpack that must have belonged to a high schooler and packs it with a thermal blanket, the emergency rations he’d managed to rescue from their base, a first aid kit and water. He leaves their communication device untouched. He wasn’t stupid enough to broadcast a signal saying _I’m alive, try killing me again!_

He’d have to find some other way.

He wished, not for the first time, Fujisaki was still here.

It’s painstaking, navigating the city ruins and keeping his eyes peeled for Monokuma. He has to catch himself and slow down. If he rushes, he’ll be more likely to set the Monokuma off. The briefing before he’d come here and lessons from their first missions come to mind. _Stay out of sight. Don’t get their attention. Use your head._

Togami had picked up on all of it easily, Kirigiri right behind. He and Asahina had been the ones lagging. She had always been brash, but she had the strength to back it up, most of the time—but only _most,_ and for the times she couldn’t take the brunt of danger, she had to learn to be careful. Makoto had… needed help with so many things, in comparison. He was always putting himself in danger without a second thought. He couldn’t help it. The days of watching people die were burned into his mind, and he couldn’t let it keep happening. He had learned to swallow the guilt over time, but he had never really shaken the instinct to _help_ when he had the ability to.

Which is why, when he hears the cries of a child, he doesn’t think twice about rushing toward the sound.

He dashes down the third floor hallway of the office building he had moved to. He doesn’t think about how he makes too much noise—someone was _here,_ and it was a _kid, a child,_ and they were in _trouble_ and hell if he could ever ignore that.

He rushes into a room, the sound louder. There are rows of cubicles and piles of broken computer screens. He ignores the crunching of broken glass, and turns the corner of one of the rows, prepared to do whatever he could to help the kid.

He barely, _luckily,_ ducks away with only a scratch to his cheek as the crying morphs into that terrifying Monokuma laughter and _since when did they start mimicking?_

Claws shear through the corner of the cubicle, but Makoto already had his gun out and set to _break._

The Monokuma is flung back against a wall. Makoto ducks for cover. Once again, he watches shrapnel embed itself into the wall beside him.

He wants to sit there and let the adrenaline fade. He wants to calm his heart down and process the panic and fear, but he has to keep moving. The explosion would attract others. He couldn’t stay here.

After that, he thinks twice when he hears a voice cry out. He still checks. He can’t risk the possibility he might be missing someone actually in danger. He gets into more close calls than he’s had since those first days out of the school and gains several more scars. He has to raid a hospital to find more supplies just to keep himself together. He camps out there a few days, before moving on.

Not once do the voices turn out to be real people.

It hurts to admit the loneliness is getting to him.

* * *

He’s carefully making his way toward another sound of crying when he hears a familiar voice at his back.

“You put yourself in danger by continuing this.”

Makoto freezes, hand going for the hacking gun as soon as the first syllable reaches his ears—those Monokuma really had . Then he forces himself to relax and turns around.

“K-Kamukura,” his voice shakes in surprise, and a bit of relief. It had been weeks since their last encounter. He hadn’t spoken to another person since then. “You’re… still here?”

Kamukura doesn’t answer him, which isn’t unexpected. Despite his confusion and tension, Makoto decides to address his words.

“I won’t ignore it.” He starts cautiously. “I won’t leave people’s lives to chance.”

“You are wasting time. Did you not say that you needed to go back to your division?”

“Of course. But I won’t leave anyone behind, either.”

Kamukura turns away before Makoto can attempt to read his expression.

“There are no survivors in this city. You should find a way to your next destination.” The man says it like he’s stating the obvious to a particularly dense person.

Between one blink and the next, Kamukura disappears.

Makoto still checks the voice.

Once again, he fends off another Monokuma.

They always sound too lifelike to tell if they’re fake.

_But why is Kamukura still here?_

It wasn’t as if Makoto were doing anything interesting, besides bumbling around a desolate city and nearly getting killed.

_Why would he tell him that?_

Makoto doesn’t know why… but he doesn’t believe the other was lying.

The next time he hears someone calling out from the darker corners of a crumbling building, he decides not to check it out immediately.

He makes it to the second story of the apartments across the street when a beat Monokuma, desperate calls turning into a shrieking laughter, bursts out of the debris.

Makoto grits his teeth, thinks about his friends and teammates still in danger, and takes aim.

He doesn’t follow the next voice he hears.

Instead, he finds himself a hoodie.

It’s made of thick, dark fabric, dark red stripes diagonal over the left breast and a circular grizzly bear print on the back.

He wears it and makes it a point not to let the Monokuma tear it up. It’s a challenge, but he manages.

He will stay alive.


End file.
